Witty Jack
by Amber Quinn
Summary: Jack Sparrow is once again persuing an adventure, meeting new characters that he hopes will help lead to his ultimate goal...but what ever it may be, it is a secret only for Jack. Suspicions will rise, innocents will be accused, and strengths challenged.


_All right; this is my first ever fanfiction, featuring POTC. Yup, it's that terrible, awful, no good Jack Sparrow who we all know and love. Go easy on me; I'm still working on it. Please R&R!_

_--- Amber Quinn_

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**Witty Jack**

It was a rather chilly day on the Caribbean seas, a shimmering mist haunting some parts of the ever-rocking ocean. For reasons unknown, it seemed as though it was densest around a majestic black ship, with ragged black sails printed against the cloudy gray sky. This ship was a nightmare for any respectable captain (crewman as well), but to any who weren't quite as noble, it was a nuisance as well as a threat. For this was the _Black Pearl_. And on the pirate ship's deck strode a tan-skinned man; his prideful air marking him as none other but the captain. Captain Jack Sparrow. Several of his dreadlocks whipped about his face with the strong breeze, the locks of hair with metal trophies adorned upon them clanking against each other as he walked. The braids dangling from his chin flattened themselves against the bottom of his jaw as he tilted his head back to observe the crow's nest.

"Gibbs!" he hollered, squinting to see the slightly round figure of Mr. Gibbs give a start, scramble to stand up right and yell back down in a groggy voice,

"Aye, Captain?"

"I've got us a heading!"

"I thought we ad' one!"

"Not anymore we don't!"

"What?"

"I said, not anymore!"

"What?"

"I said – oh for bloody hell get down here so we won't be wasting our breath!" Jack grumbled irritably, touching his fingertips to his forehead and closing his eyes in exasperation.

"I can't hear ye, Captain!"

"That bloody why you need to get down here!"

Gibbs nodded and hastened to climb down from the crow's nest, a canteen clasped in one of his fists.

"Now what was it ye was saying about a headin'?" Gibbs asked, taking a quick swig.

"Firstly," Jack reprimanded him by snatching away the canteen; "I can't afford to have my crew getting drunk on their rum while on duty. As much as we all love rum, and by we I mean myself, we won't be able to drink it if we're dead, aye?"

"Aye, that be so," the elderly crewman sighed, eyeing the canteen that his captain now held.

"Secondly, I've got another heading. I've just heard wind that the bloke in Tortuga who told us about this "Amulet of Guidance" was known for his famous lies, not that I haven't told one or two myself, and I have reason to believe, Mr. Gibbs, that he was lying to us as well."

Mr. Gibbs shifted uncomfortably at the idea of being deceived. "So what's our new heading?"

"We go back to the lovely Tia Dalma and ask for a bit more…" Jack paused as he searched for the proper word.

"Guidance?" suggested Gibbs.

"Guidance, that's it. Now tallyho, Mr. Gibbs. Be a good fellow and let all the crew know of our new heading," Jack told him, handing back the canteen and giving Gibbs a slight pat on the back.

"Aye captain!" Gibbs responded cheerily, and walked awkwardly down to the barracks where most of the crew was still sleeping.

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"Captain?" 

Jack turned on his heel to face Mr. Gibbs, Mr. Cotton, and Anna Maria.

"We were wondering - " Gibbs began. Anna Maria interrupted him.

"We want to know what we must journey for," she snapped. "and why we should have to go back to Tia Dalma."

"Rawk! Walk the plank! Walk the plank!" squawked Mr. Cotton's parrot. Mr. Cotton's eyes widened with surprise, and he clapped his hand over the parrot's beak, giving it a quick glare. Jack glanced briefly at the raucous bird before turning back to Anna Maria.

"Luv, it isn't any mere treasure we're going after this time," he began carefully, "it's something...bigger."

Anna Maria folded her arms across her chest and tapped the deck with the toe of her boot.

"It'll make everyone of us rich; living in luxury, we'll be," Jack spoke more softly. Mr. Gibbs drew forward hesitantly.

"Captain...what be this...bigger thing that will make us all rich?" the stout man asked.

"Ah, Mr. Gibbs...that wasn't the original question, now was it? I believe the original question was why we had to go to Tia Dalma for more answers, correct me if I'm wrong, darling," he glanced at Anna Maria, "and I believe I answered it. The reason for going to Tia Dalma's is because the actual heading we are pursuing lies in the answers we get from her, Tia Dalma being the more unactual heading, and if we don't get the answers from her we can't get the thing we are pursuing. Savvy?"

Mr. Gibbs blinked in confusion and let out a small sigh. Mr. Cotton stared at his boots, his parrot muttering "Walk the plank! Walk the plank! Rawk!". Anna Maria still had her arms folded across her chest, still glaring at Jack.

"Another original question, Captain," she hissed. "_What_ is it we are pursuing?" As if to show she was truly serious, she pulled out her pistol and cocked it at him.

"Now, Anna Maria," Jack said gently. "you can't very well get answers from me if I'm dead. Am I right?"

She scowled at him and held it level to his eyes.

"You might not die, but you might loose your sight," Anna Maria told him coldly.

"Who am I to correct you? But I must say; we will be getting no where if I die or loose my sight; seeing as _I_ am the only one who knows how to get to Tia Dalma's."

"Wrong!" she snarled. "_You_ had maps made, remember?"

"Oh...yes." Jack cursed under his breath. His list of excuses was growing thin. "Say, is that a storm brewing about?" He pointed in a North-Easterly direction.

Everyone, with the exception of Jack, whipped around to face his so-called storm. He took this opportunity to run into the Captain's Quarters, only a few meters from where he had been standing, and lock the door. Jack smiled to himself as he heard Anna Maria's growl of anger, Mr. Cotton's parrot shrieking "Man overboard! Man over board! Rawk!", and Mr. Gibbs muttering about how lying about on-coming storms was bad luck enough to bring on an actual one.

"There'll be no avoiding them for the rest of this blasted trip."


End file.
